


OSS #11 Tropical Adventure

by somewhereelse



Series: bee-eye-en-gee-oh [11]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, F/M, Olicity Summer Sizzle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: Rookie demon hunter Felicity Smoak finally gets that tropical getaway she’s always dreamed of. Circumstances and company leave a lot to be desired, though. A continuation ofOSS #5 Demon AU.





	OSS #11 Tropical Adventure

“Constantine really rubs off on you, you know that?”

“What?”

“Not like that,” Felicity has the good sense to blush. For all their flirty talk, neither of them had the balls to actually make a move after the thoroughly lust-dampening experience that was a congregation in front of Oliver’s—and now _her_ —bosses. And after that, Felicity was flung into training and assignments, and Oliver back to his usual job, with little fanfare. Needless to say, they’re a little pent up these days. “I mean, you’re all cranky and cryptic.”

“Whatever,” Oliver grunts, embodying the first description. “Did you bring the foot?” he asks, embodying the second.

“Yes,” Felicity responds tartly. 

She has a genius level intellect and a successful technology company to back it up. She doesn’t know why Oliver thinks that intelligence can’t be applied to demon hunting. Just because it involves the supernatural, which she didn’t believe in up until a year ago, and seems to defy all known laws of nature—oh yeah that’ll do it. Still, she’s a quick study, and he could give her credit for that much.

Of course she can follow instructions and bring along the amputated foot, no matter how gross it is. She really hopes the twitching toes were just a figment of her imagination. Still, Felicity doesn’t know why Oliver can’t keep it in _his_ rucksack.

Too busy sneaking their weapons in past security probably. If she knew their destination ahead of time, Felicity could have just gotten them a chartered flight, instead of trying to smuggle the truly bizarre contents of their carry-ons onto a commercial flight. If anything, it just makes her paranoid about ever trusting the federal government with her aviation experiences.

“We don’t exactly blend in,” she whispers to Oliver when they reach the gate. 

The other passengers are dressed for a luxury vacation, all linens and straw hats. She and Oliver are in their standard work outfits. Really, all the time outfits now, she guesses. Worn chinos, performance shirts, and sturdy boots, the pièce de résistance being their grimy rucksacks. 

With an eye roll, Oliver gestures to a group hanging out at the back wall. Those travelers are kitted out similarly to themselves except for the technical backpacks leaned against the wall in a neat row. Backpackers obviously, and Felicity mentally facepalms.

“Don’t talk to them.” Oliver catches her by the hand when she goes to plop down near their corner. “We’re not here to make an impression.”

Felicity shoots him a skeptical look. “Wouldn’t it be weirder to be the only two not making friends? Like, hey, have you seen anyone suspicious? Well, there was that couple who looked miserable and didn’t talk to anyone.”

“I don’t look miserable,” Oliver argues with a frown.

“Yes, you look peachy keen. On a scale of one to ten, enjoying yourself fifteen. Would totally recommend whatever’s going on in your life right now.” She rolls her eyes. “Oliver, you look like you swallowed a puffer fish, and it’s currently trying to work its way back up your esophagus at full puff.”

He ignores her sarcasm and rather inventive description. “Are _you_ miserable?”

“No, I like this job,” Felicity sighs, “It’s challenging and adventurous and makes me think on my feet. I feel like I’m really helping people, even though my partner would rather eat his shoe than have me around.”

“Felicity, I like having you around.”

“Sure, you do. I know I’m nothing more than dead weight and a rookie you have to train,” her hands flutter nervously, “but I’d rather not have this half-assed attempt at a pep talk in the middle of a busy airport before we’re stuck together for who knows how long. So I’m just going to sit over there, far away from anyone who might try to strike up a conversation, including you.”

Felicity crashes into an empty seat, barely sparing a glance at Oliver, who still looks like he swallowed something currently fighting its way back up.

For a guy who hit on her during their first meeting, which happened to be in the midst of a battle for her soul, he sure wants little to do with her now. Her mysterious allure must have worn off quick once faced with the genuine article who’s kind of a stream of consciousness exercise in the form of a human being. And that’s fine, but she wishes he would at least pretend they have an amicable working relationship.

* * *

“I told you not to touch that plant,” Oliver defends himself again as he unlocks their hotel room.

Felicity’s response is a dirty look.

“I thought because it was poisonous. When faced with the option of demonic possession or some tropical poison ivy, of course I was going to pick poison ivy. You could have told me the plant was going to _swallow me whole_.”

Her glare is furious, but she’s generally ignoring him in favor of heading straight to the bathroom. Oliver sacrificed his spare shirt to the cause of trying to get as much goo off Felicity before they returned to the city center, and therefore normal people who might find everything about them suspicious, but she’s still basically covered in it. The shower kicks on a second later, and Oliver’s brain immediately swirls down the drain. Felicity and her remarkably pert ass is _naked_ behind that flimsy door and about to be soaking wet. 

Shaking his head, Oliver grabs his tablet to fill out the report. Usually, Felicity handled this part, but he can’t imagine she’d be a fan of writing up the last few days. At least her accidental ingestion and sudden disappearance confused the demon enough that Oliver could sneak up behind it for the beheading and end the tiring pursuit through dense rainforest. He cut Felicity out of the carnivorous plant a second later, and thankfully she wasn’t any worse for the wear except for being covered in a gelatinous goo that smelled faintly of licorice. 

Since his brain has only one destination now, he immediately starts to wonder what Felicity smells like underneath that scent. Relaxing back in the uncomfortable desk chair, his thoughts take a little detour to the months he spent monitoring and _watching_ Felicity from afar. Getting to know her in the flesh, her personality and quirks, is a million times better, but sometimes he misses the barrier of anonymity separating them. She gets under his skin far too easily these days.

“Oliver, can you toss my bag in here?”

He has no idea how much time has passed, but the page in front of him is still blank, and the shower is off. Dutifully, he retrieves her rucksack and opens the bathroom door just enough to set it inside before snapping the door closed again. He almost takes it off the hinges, but Felicity doesn’t need to know that.

“Much better,” she sighs, emerging from the bathroom. Running shorts, tank top, wet hair. Is she trying to kill him? Or just crack his “cranky” exterior?

“What are you working on?” Felicity leans over his shoulder. Generic hotel shampoo is all he smells, and he frowns. “Okay, fine, don’t tell me.”

She parks herself cross legged on the bed under the air conditioning vent and sets to towel drying her hair. “I guess I did say I wanted an adventure,” Felicity mutters to herself while working through the challenging task of combing through her wet hair. Before it has time to dry into the curls he’s seen on rare occasions, she weaves in a quick braid.

“Do you want me to fill out the report?” she asks solicitously, just like an overeager rookie.

Oliver shakes his head, figuring that’s enough damage for one day. “I’m working on it,” he grumbles and points a pencil toward the still-blank screen. Felicity hums skeptically as he continues to stare blankly at the blank document.

“You know you’re not my trainee, right?” 

The question bursts out of him like he’s been waiting for the opportunity since the airport. Felicity proved her abilities in her first two or three assignments, probably in large part due to Nyssa’s training. She’s been paired with a couple other hunters, but they work best together since he doesn’t mind her motor mouth, finds it kind of amusing actually. The higher-ups haven’t approved any solo assignments yet, but that’s due to lack of experience, not _capability_. In any case, he doesn’t consider himself her supervisor, nor is anyone looking to him to be.

“Oliver, you treat me like a puppy that hasn’t been house-trained,” Felicity sighs tiredly. “Which is fine because I’m apparently liable to get swallowed whole by overgrown houseplants if you send me out into the rainforest without supervision.”

“I—” His mind flashes back to all the “mishaps” of his early years. For some reason, he’s not willing to give Felicity that blackmail in exchange for her buoyed self-esteem. No, he’s wizened and battle-hardened with his rookie days long behind him. “That’s true, I guess. You’re getting the hang of it though,” he offers as consolation.

Felicity just rolls her eyes at the faint praise. Suddenly, she gets a suspicious look to her. “Hey. What was the foot for?”

Oliver freezes. Constantine mentioned the foot as a joke. He didn’t think Felicity would actually bring it, but he can’t exactly tell her that _now_.

“ _Are you kidding me?!_ ”

Too late. She’s figured it out.

Felicity reaches over the edge of the bed and retrieves the foot from its hiding place. Without any of the disgust that tainted her features the first time she touched it, she grips the extremity firmly and lobs it at him. The shot, of course, goes wide and bounces harmlessly off the corner of the desk.

Flushing with embarrassment, she mumbles, “Jerk.”

“Think of it as friendly hazing,” Oliver tries to suppress his amusement. “And be careful with that thing. I’m not really sure what it does, but Constantine uses it in his location tracking spells.”

There’s a quiet pop, and as if summoned, Constantine appears through a portal. “Ah, there you are,” he mutters, grabbing the foot and sauntering back to his doorway. “Thanks for looking after it, Smoaky,” he pauses, then throws a wink over his shoulder, “Enjoy the flight, mates.”

The portal closes with the force of a vacuum seal, rattling all the furniture in the room. Even Oliver is confused by the demonologist’s odd behavior. When he looks over at Felicity, she’s emphatically shaking her head.

“No. Nope. Nope so hard. I am _not_ getting on that plane _now_.” She reaches for her tablet and tosses him a sly smile. “How do you feel about private jets?”

Oliver almost grins then gives her a small nod. Yeah, maybe a partner—well, _this_ partner—isn’t such a bad thing.


End file.
